


simple fact

by bastigod



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Background Saku/Atsu, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, M/M, Post-Time Skip, Pre-Relationship, bi king osamu, canonverse, supportive miyas who love each other agenda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:53:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23851114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bastigod/pseuds/bastigod
Summary: "If ya make a wish it’ll come true in a year.”Osamu brushed his fingers across the worn bronze. Eyes drifted closed.There were a million things he could wish for.
Relationships: Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou
Comments: 81
Kudos: 973
Collections: One shots, SunaOsa





	simple fact

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [правда жизни](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27244417) by [жёлтая сунарина (librevers)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/librevers/pseuds/%D0%B6%D1%91%D0%BB%D1%82%D0%B0%D1%8F%20%D1%81%D1%83%D0%BD%D0%B0%D1%80%D0%B8%D0%BD%D0%B0)



> additional warning for consumption of beer and a minor recreational drug mention.
> 
> there are spoilers for HQ chapter 391 here. they are minor but i would highly recommend reading it first.
> 
> **This fic is now available in Russian[here](https://ficbook.net/readfic/9883953) and [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27244417)!**

November is cold.

That was a simple fact of life. 

The sky is blue. Grass is green. November is cold.

"Yo." An elbow jabbed at Osamu's side. "We should keep walkin'."

The Miya twins leaned against the stone wall, the only barrier between them and the icy river below. They were flanked by a turtlenecked artist peddling watercolors on one side and a regal looking sandstone statue on the other.

"Samu."

The statue was of a man, presumably a saint based on the gold-colored halo he donned, and a baby. His stone eyes were carved to look at the baby, but from this angle, Osamu couldn't help but feel scrutinized by the robed man. He stared back in quiet defiance.

Osamu is knocked back to reality by a booted foot kicked into his shin. He unwillingly surrendered his unwinnable staring contest as the statue smiled down at him condescendingly.

“Earth to Samu! You in there bro?” 

"Mhm." Osamu's eyes dropped to meet those of his twin, from haunting cold stone to familiar warm mundanity. 

“We should keep walkin’.” Atsumu repeated. “My nuts are gonna freeze off.”

"Can't have that, now can we?" Osamu stared up at the gloomy sky. Clouds lurched across the heavens, heavy with snow. The cobblestones of the bridge would probably be coated with mucky grey slush this time tomorrow.

Spending the week in Prague with his brother hadn’t been high on his bucket list.

However, canceling a trip he’d planned months ago was complicated. Plane tickets were the easiest part, just a simple phone call to the airline and he would’ve gotten a refund. However, everything else was a different story, especially with only a week’s notice. His Airbnb host sent him email after email in broken Google Translate Japanese begging him to come. The tickets to the opera were non-refundable.

And worst of all, his little sister, a devil in disguise, would’ve cried loudly on Skype if he told her he wasn’t coming to her competition after he promised.

So instead of canceling his flight, he appeared on Atsumu’s doorstep, a bag of takeout from their favorite sushi joint in one hand and a six-pack of Sapporo in the other.

Osamu’s bad day morphed into something even worse when the door creaked open and he met the face of someone who was absolutely not Atsumu.

“Miya. There is some sort of… street rat here.”

Sakusa Kiyoomi stood there, arms crossed over his chest. Osamu would’ve assumed this was just some sort of friendly hangout between teammates if it weren’t for three distinct reasons. One, this was Sakusa Fucking Kiyoomi, ice prince extraordinaire, who according to Atsumu would rather self-immolate than spend time at anyone else’s apartment. Two, this was Sakusa Fucking Kiyoomi conveniently missing a shirt. Three, this was Sakusa Fucking Kiyoomi wearing a necklace of purple bruises over his collarbones.

“Huh? A what now?” Came a familiar shout from deep inside the apartment.

Jet-black eyes stared down into Osamu’s soul. “A rat.”

“Lemme find a shirt!” 

“Nice to see you too, _Omi-kun_.” Osamu earned an irritated scoff for his efforts.

Moments later, Atsumu appeared in a too large shirt, hanging low over his barely visible boxers.

Atsumu’s face morphed from neutral to shock to deep red-faced embarrassment and finally to artificial confidence in the form of a crescent-eyed fox smile. “Samu, my dear brother, would it kill ya to fuckin’ call first?” 

“Tsumu, my _dear brother_ , somethin’ tells me ya wouldn’t’ve answered.”

Atsumu rolled his eyes and jerked Osamu inside by the sleeve. “Whaddya want?”

Osamu warily eyed Sakusa, Atsumu turned to follow his gaze.

Sakusa sighed. “I’ll go.” He vanished into the bedroom, leaving the twins to stare dumbly at one another.

Osamu raised his eyebrows. _How long has that been goin’ on?_

Atsumu counted on his fingers. _Five months?_

Osamu squinted and pointed at his brother. _With you._

Atsumu shrugged. _Don’t quite understand it myself._

Sakusa re-emerged, still shirtless, holding a bundled up sweatshirt in his hands. “Miya. That’s mine.”

“Oh.” Atsumu mumbled as Sakusa flings the sweatshirt at him. He slipped the long sleeve off to toss it back and Osamu has to pretend he doesn’t see the bite marks on his brother’s shoulder. “See ya tomorrow.”

Sakusa leaned over the couch before leaving, eyeing the take out bag. “Any unagi in there?”

Osamu begrudgingly passed a white styrofoam container into the freakishly bony hands of his brother’s… something. He would mourn the loss of his eel rolls but a deep, primal, caveman part of his brain was terrified of getting on Sakusa’s bad side. If any of his acquaintances knew how to hide a body, it was him.

“Tsumu.” He spoke the moment the front door latched shut.

“Really don’ wanna hear it.” Atsumu groaned, burying his hands in his hair.

“What? About how yer fuck buddies with Sakusa Fuckin’ Kiyoomi?” Osamu cracked open a bottle with his house key and nudged it in his brother’s direction. 

“He’s m’ boyfriend.” Atsumu grabbed the beer, not daring to look Osamu in the eye.

Osamu did the same for his own bottle, letting the cap fall to the floor. He sighed before clinking it against the bottle in his twin’s hand. “Well, fuckin’ cheers to that.”

Atsumu took a sip. “Why’re ya here, really?” 

“Come to Prague with me.”

His eyebrows rose. “Prague?”

“Been awhile since ya last saw Hiro skate in person.”

“Nuh uh, no way. Yer not manipulatin’ me this time.” Atsumu took a large swig. “I don’t need ta be yer third wheel.”

Osamu sighed. “Michiru broke up with me.”

Atsumu placed his beer on the coffee table. Its loud thunk made Osamu flinch. “Yer kiddin’.”

“Wish I was.” He unlocked his phone. He'd already changed his background from a gorgeous selfie of his now ex to a family photo of him and his siblings. He opened up his gallery and handed it to Atsumu.

Atsumu gingerly took it and stared at the image he’d pulled up. 

“Was gonna give her that while we were in Prague.” Atsumu’s eyebrows creased, before he sighed and placed the phone face down on the table. “Booked a romantic dinner at a fancy place ‘n’ everythin’.” Osamu laughed, half-hearted and bitter. “Gonna return it tomorrow. Get m’ money back.”

“I’ll go.” Atsumu’s voice was small. Sad. A voice Osamu hadn’t heard since high school, in those fleeting after-midnight moments when they’d both lay in the top bunk and stare at the ceiling and talk about life. “I got a game but…” He sighed. “I’ll tell boss it's a family ‘mergency.”

And that led him to here, a week later, staring at a grey sky, leaning on a stone bridge, scrutinized by judgmental sculptures of saints.

“You good?” His twin asks, the words muffled by tourists shuffling past.

“No.” Osamu exhaled, watching his breath billow fog. “I don’t think I am.”

A familiar hand grips his shoulder. “Let’s keep goin’. Find ya a goddamn pub.”

That was one thing he could appreciate about his brother. Atsumu always knew when he didn’t want to talk about it.

Is it healthy in the long run to bottle it up?

Probably not.

But he also knew, no matter what, that that blonde haired menace would be there to listen when he was finally ready.

And so they continued, carefully sidestepping tourists and vendors. A throng of people gathered around one of the statues, fingers brushing against a worn bronze plaque at the base.

“M’ book said that’s a guy named Saint John of… Nep… Nepo… Whatever. Saint John.” Atsumu said as he pointed at the star haloed man. “If ya touch that plaque, it means yer gonna come back to Prague one day.”

It was a nice fairy tale of a concept, sure. A guarantee to see this fantasy city again. But maybe not worth waiting in a jostling crowd for.

“Here.” Atsumu pointed to a segment of wrought iron. “C’mere.” He gripped Osamu’s arm and half-yanked him along.

“What’s this?” Osamu said. Embedded in the bridge’s stone was a shiny cross.

“Get this.” Atsumu pulled out his guide book and flipped through it. “Saint John back there,” he pointed with his free hand. “Got dumped in the river. Pretty metal way to go out, all things considered. They put this here ‘cause this is where it happened.”

Atsumu touched the cross. “Now this one, if ya make a wish it’ll come true in a year.”

Osamu brushed his fingers across the worn bronze. Eyes drifted closed.

There were a million things he could wish for.

Health for his grandparents. Peace for his parents. Victory for his brother. Success for his sister.

The sky is blue. Grass is green.

Osamu is selfish.

That’s okay.

  
  


* * *

  
  


CAST

MIYA OSAMU: Early 20s. Owner and head chef of Onigiri Miya, a successful restaurant.

MIYA MICHIRU: Early 20s. His new wife.

TIME: The near future

SCENE: The action takes place in an apartment in Kobe, Japan

  
  


ACT ONE

SCENE 1

OSAMU _enters from stage left into the bedroom._ MICHIRU _is laying on her side in bed, covered entirely by a blanket._

OSAMU. Mornin’, ’m home! ( _He approaches the dresser and begins removing his running gear._ ) You plannin’ on gettin’ up? ( _He laughs._ )

MICHIRU. Five more minutes. (OSAMU _moves to the bed and sits on the edge._ ) <There is a hand-penciled note in the margin that reads ‘speak hoarsely’>

OSAMU. Babe? ( _He reaches over to touch_ MICHIRU _’s shoulder._ ) You okay?

MICHIRU. Do you think I’m beautiful?

OSAMU. ‘Course I do.

MICHIRU. ( _She leans upwards and turns to_ OSAMU _to reveal a horrifying Chelsea smile._ ) How about now? (OSAMU _screams._ )

  
  


* * *

  
  


“Whew.” Came Atsumu’s voice through the scratchy speakerphone. “Rough nightmare, bro.”

Osamu lay prone on the kitchen floor, staring at the flickering track lighting. White spots marred his vision, but he couldn’t look away.

It was 3 a.m. 

In a non-parallel universe, his brother would’ve bitched and moaned about being woken up in the middle of the night. Atsumu was a morning person through and through. His dawn runs stopped for no man, no animal, no act of god. 

But this was a bizarre pocket universe. One where Atsumu cohabited with a night owl germaphobic freak. One where said night owl germaphobic freak played multiplayer shooters during the witching hour.

In the distance, he could hear Sakusa shouting. “HARDT HARDT HARDT HARDT.”

“I’d invite ya over, for some good ol’ fashioned bro cuddles.” Atsumu yawned. “But yer gonna have better luck fallin’ asleep at home.”

“It’s fine.” Osamu mumbled weakly. He snapped his eyes closed, red afterimages of the bulbs above him danced across his lids.

“Hey, Samu. Look,” Atsumu sighed. “I wish I knew how to help ya get over Bitch-iru. But you know me. Never been too serious ‘bout relationships.” He paused. “Well… I guess ‘til now.”

“‘Bitch-iru!’” Osamu laughed.

“Like that one?” Osamu could hear the grin in Atsumu’s voice. “Kiyo came up with it.”

_Kiyo_. 

“Yo, I almost forgot.” There was a shuffle through the speaker as Atsumu shifted. “Bokkun’s throwin’ a countdown party for New Years. You should come.”

“Nah. Ya know I’ve never been one for parties. ‘Specially one full of _yer_ friends.”

“C’moooooon.” Atsumu whined. “I promise, yer gonna have a great time.”

Osamu sighed. “I’ll think about it.”

“I just think it’d be good for ya to make some friends. So ya stop bein’ such a sad sack all the fuckin’ time.”

“I said I’ll think about it.”

“And if ya don’t go to the party, ya can come over and hang with Omi. He won’t bite.”

“Thanks Tsumu.” Osamu grabbed his phone and leaned up from the floor, blinking away the stars in his eyes.

“Don’t mention it.” Atsumu yawned again. “Try to get some sleep, okay? Love you.”

“Yeah, I’ll try. Love you, too.”

Osamu hung up and stared at the dark screen of his phone. He wondered if that was one of the simple facts of life.

The sky is blue. Grass is green. Only one Miya brother is allowed to be happy at any given point.

He’d ridden the high after high school. Retired from volleyball. Went to culinary school. Moved in with Michiru. Opened his business. 

Now it was Atsumu’s turn.

Osamu pushed himself off the floor.

No.

He refused.

They both can be happy.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Osamu chose the party.

As appealing as staying inside all night playing Overwatch with Sakusa Kiyoomi sounded, it involved staying inside all night playing Overwatch with Sakusa Kiyoomi.

He waited 25 minutes after their agreed upon meeting time for Atsumu to show up in the subway station.

"Sorry, my train got delayed." Atsumu was lying, Osamu knew he was lying, Atsumu knew Osamu knew he was lying. He lied anyway.

"Yeah, whatever."

Bokuto lived so far on the edge of the city that he was practically in the countryside. It took the twins nearly 45 minutes to get there, switching from one train to the next, then into a taxi for the last leg. He was one of the few lucky bastards Osamu knew to have an actual house and not just a too-small, too-expensive apartment. 

Not that his house was much to write home about. It was an old Japanese-style house set back from the road and a small distance away from any neighbors, with its back to the woods and a few unused agricultural fields. It was a fixer upper that Bokuto had no spare time to dedicate towards fixing. He was rarely even home, too. Instead opting to crash in a Jackals provided dorm unless he had time off or Akaashi was visiting.

Still, a house was a house. Even if the shed roof looked like it was fighting a losing battle with gravity and the kitchen had peeling white appliances.

"Myaa-Sam!" Came Bokuto's distinct bellow the second Atsumu's teammate laid eyes on him. "Tsum Tsum didn't say you were coming!"

Of course he didn't, that would require being a considerate guest.

"Haha, sorry. Sounds like my brother."

"Don't mind!" Bokuto scooped him into a bone-crushing hug. "Grab a beer, get some food! There's plenty to go around."

Osamu was swiftly reminded why he didn’t like parties.

The ‘adults’ at the party, the Meian-sans and Oliver Barneses of the world, were milling around the dining room with their significant others, sipping their drinks, nibbling on finger food, and talking about being functional members of society. In normal circumstances, perhaps he’d find himself amongst them. Talking about the recent success of Onigiri Miya, Michiru holding his hand while she shared details about her newest architectural project.

The ‘kids’ of the party, the Hinatas and the Atsumus of the world, were outside breaking the sound barrier. Bokuto had rented a karaoke machine, and everyone was drunkenly taking full advantage of it and the distant neighbors. After the third time he heard Komori sing Chiisana Koi no Uta (‘singing’ was a generous word to use,) Osamu had had enough.

“Akaashi-san?”

“Hm? What’s up?” Akaashi sat bundled up under a faux fur blanket on a patio seat, quietly sipping a beer, observing the mayhem.

“Is there anywhere less…” Osamu gestured a hand in the direction of his brother, who was currently perched on Washio’s shoulders violently singing an off-key duet with the EJP middle blocker.

“If you need a break.” Akaashi pointed up to a balcony on the second story. “Head up the stairs and go to the first door on the left. Do not step on the 5th step unless you want to go to the hospital.”

Osamu really didn’t want to test that warning. “Got it. Thank you.”

After side-stepping the horrifyingly splintered step, Osamu found himself in a sparsely decorated bedroom. An unfamiliar couple sat on the bed, quietly chatting. Someone was out on the balcony. He mumbled apologies to the couple as he passed them and slid the door open.

“Oh.”

It’s-

“Sunarin.”

The seated figure turned his head, a small grin on his face. “Miya fucking Osamu. Get over here.” He gestured then patted next to him.

Osamu sat down on the balcony floor, sliding his legs through the wooden railing and letting them dangle. “Been a hot minute.” Suna said.

“Well, life happens, I s’pose.” 

Suna grimaced. That distinct narrow-eyed, tight-lipped expression Osamu was on the receiving end of for the entirety of high school. 

“Man, Osamu.” Suna tilted his head backwards to stare at the dark sky, tucking his bangs behind his ears. “Cut the bullshit.” The grin on his face betrayed his terse tone. “Haven’t seen you in three months and you give me that ‘life happens’ nonsense.”

“Has it really been that long?”

“Yeah, it was your birthday.” Suna kicked his socked foot back, colliding against the ceramic roof tiles with a clatter. “Then the season started, and well, you know how hard it is to get away.” 

“At least yer here now.”

“True that.” Out of the corner of his eye, Osamu could see Suna glance at him. “So, what’s been new with you?”

“Ya prob’ly saw I finally opened up a brick n’ mortar place downtown, so I’ve been busy with the shop. It was perfect timin’ too, cause my food truck broke down literally a week later. It’s like…”

“‘There is always someone watching, Shin-chan.’” They said in unison. Osamu’s eyebrows raised. Suna snorted. They’ve both matured and changed over the course of their friendship, but some things never change.

“Speaking of Kita-sama.” Suna tilted his head. “How are things going with Mi-chan?”

It was Suna, way back in high school, who decided to play matchmaker and set the two of them up. She was Suna’s neighbor back then, and Osamu was pitifully single. It was great, while it lasted.

“Dare I ask why she reminded ya of Michiru?” Osamu laughed.

Suna smirked. “Well, I think us Inarizaki boys owe Granny a wedding.”

“Ah.” Osamu stared at his cold-pinkened fingertips. “I was plannin’ on proposin’.”

“Hell yeah, du-”

“But we broke up. Last month.” 

“Oh.” Suna’s face fell. “Sorry to hear that.”

“It’s whatever. I’m over it.” A white lie. Suna didn’t need to know that. Osamu nudged him in the arm. “But ‘nough about me, tell me ‘bout yer exploits.”

Suna glanced at him, then quickly looked back out over the yard below. “Don’t have anything to tell ya.”

“Bullshit. Yer one of the top middle blockers in the league, a National Team mainstay and I saw yer ads. And yer tellin’ me ya don’t have half of Japan tryna get it?”

“Oh god. The ads.” Suna turned a brilliant shade of red Osamu could see even in the dark. There were seemingly a billion of them. Television, magazines, web ads, even a handful of billboards. Suna in sportswear. Suna in casual fashion. Suna in a suit. Suna in eyeliner. “I’d rather not talk about them.”

“Why?” Osamu laughed. “Ya looked hot, bro.”

“I could push you off this balcony,” Suna placed the tips of his fingers on Osamu’s back. Just the tiniest ghost of a touch barely felt through his wool coat. “And just watch you bleed out down there.”

“You wouldn’t.” Suna raised his eyebrows incredulously, then laughed. He relaxed his hand, gently pressing the entirety of his palm against Osamu’s back.

“You’re right.” Suna cracked a smile. “I won’t lie, I got plenty of people wanting a little bit of Suna Rintarou.” He cocked his eyebrow and winked, earning himself an eye roll from Osamu “But the truth is, I’ve had my eye on somebody for quite a while now. Just gotta grow the balls to actually do something about it first.”

"Whadya got to lose?" 

"Probably everything." 

"So dramatic."

A triumphant wave of cheers came from below them. Suna's hand vacated his back and found itself clutching the balcony railing as he leaned dangerously forward.

"Oh." Suna said. "I think it's midnight." A barrage of fireworks exploding in the distance confirmed it.

Osamu leaned forward as well, to steal a view of the revelry below. He watched Washio, with Atsumu still on his shoulders, pull a blonde man into a kiss. His brother dramatically thrust his arms up in indignation, before he lost his balance and careened straight into a snowbank.

Next to Osamu, Suna snickered. "Your brother's an idiot."

"Yer just now figurin' that out?"

Suna smiled at him. Eyes crinkled until they vanished under dark lashes. 

All of the Inarizaki boys had changed since they graduated high school. But Suna's genuine, unsarcastic, unironic, gloriously happy smile? That was Osamu's favorite recent development.

Suna's hand found his shoulder. "This is gonna be a better year." He said. "For both of us."

A bright firework burst across the dark sky, illuminating Suna's determined face in streaks of red.

He's beautiful, Osamu realized.

It’s hardly the first time he’s thought this about his best friend.

But right now, he wouldn’t trade that smile for anything. He’d choose it over every fantasy city in this world, over every stone bridge that made your wishes come true.

"I think yer right."

But Suna could never be his. 

He accepted that long ago.

  
  


* * *

  
  


It was 77 days.

One by one his teeth fell out. No pain, just a pop then gone. All of them piled in his palm like gravel.

He looked in the mirror and smiled.

Osamu jerked awake.

4:38 a.m. An hour and 22 minutes before his alarm was supposed to go off.

His first instinct is to snatch his phone from the side table and send a text message.

He doesn't expect an immediate response, but it comes anyway.

_Kita Shinsuke_

_Slide to Answer_

"Hello Osamu." There isn't a lick of exhaustion in Kita's voice. He knew Kita was an early riser. He had to be for his job. But did he ever sleep?

"Good mornin' Kita-san." Why didn't Kita just text him? It isn't that important.

"So, your dream." Kita paused, Osamu nodded. "You just nodded, right?"

"Yes…" Dude's a goddamn psychic.

"Anyway. Granny told me that dreams are a window into our consciousness. We take aspects of the world around us and recreate them. Sometimes dreams have deeper meaning and sometimes a dream is just a dream."

"Mhm." Osamu had to resist the urge to yawn. 

"She has this book." Osamu heard rustling through the receiver, followed by a thump. Then, a crisp sound he assumed was pages being flipped. "Ah, here. Dreamin’ your teeth fallin’ out is a sign of loss. Whether it's a relationship or a job or whatever else."

"I see."

"Is everything alright?" Kita asked.

That was the most dangerous question in Kita's repertoire. One wrong step in that metaphorical minefield and suddenly he's on your doorstep with a konbini bag in hand despite living 150 kilometers away.

He pondered momentarily, not for too long because that was a wrong step in itself, whether everything was alright.

Today was game day. In a little over two hours from now, he'd be packing up the new Onigiri Miya truck and driving to Tokyo for an away game. He'd get there early and spend the rest of the morning rolling onigiri. Players from both teams would come by throughout the day to chat and snack before scurrying back to their locker rooms.

Then during the game, he’d get to see his old friends play each other and watch all those happy faces biting into the food he lovingly made.

Both teams would go out to an izakaya. Sing karaoke and make mistakes. Osamu was always invited even if he rarely went. Tonight he decided he’d go.

"Ya know, Kita-san." Osamu smiled as he spoke. "Everything's fine."

It took him 77 days, 7 hours, and 7 minutes.

He never dreamed of her again.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Osamu’s heaven came in the form of freshly washed hands.

Not out of any sort of anxiety or compulsion or even desire for cleanliness. He wasn’t his brother’s boyfriend, after all.

Freshly washed hands meant it was time to cook. 

Kita’s grandmother said that the gods were always watching over you. That they make their home in both the magnificent and the mundane parts of our world.

Osamu had never been a spiritual person. He and Atsumu went to the shrine on New Year’s Day and made their prayers to the gods, or to the world, or to the mochi stand, or perhaps just simply to the wind. 

But if the gods were real, then surely they found their home in the kitchen, in the tools, in the dishes. Certainly in Kita's rice. Because what is cooking, if not nirvana?

Even in the shitty stadium vendor station he found himself cooking at, Osamu was at peace. 

Steaming rice in his oversized pot.

Feeling the smooth wood and surprising heft of his kitchen knives as he sliced through vegetables and slabs of raw fish.

Squeezing the seeds out of pickled plums.

Cutting sheets of nori into large strips for wrapping and tiny pieces for decorating.

Rubbing kosher salt over his wet, calloused hands.

Scooping warm rice into his palms and gently forming a triangle around the filling inside.

Repeat. Ad infinitum.

“Miya-san?” Osamu was broken from his zen. Two of his employees had materialized in front of him, already pulling on their aprons and caps. “We can take over prep if you’d like a break.”

“Right.” Osamu smiled. He would’ve been content working until the game began, but knew it would come at the cost of a scolding by his employees. “Gimme a call if ya need anythin’.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


Atsumu was an obnoxious shit head with an ego the size of Neptune and a sense of humor worse than their father's. He's a pathological liar who wouldn't hesitate to openly and shamelessly lie straight to their grandmother’s face. He's swiped an infinite number of Osamu's jackets and pudding cups. He's cheated at every game he's ever played in his entire life, whether it was Call of Duty or Monopoly.

Osamu loved the shit out of that bastard.

Especially now that being his brother gave him full access to the stadium. The name badge he wore clipped to his jeans pocket indicated he was "Essential Staff" which seemed a bit excessive. 

Full access to the stadium meant access to the player lounge. Which in turn meant access to the comfortable plush couches in the player lounge.

Thank you, Tsumu.

He was on the verge of falling asleep, eyes heavy as he sank into the couch, when the door to the player parking garage opened to reveal a familiar face.

"Oh, hey Suna." Osamu said.

Suna kept walking, black cap pulled low over his sunglasses. Headphones hung around his neck.

"Sunarin." He said, louder.

Suna stopped dead in his tracks. "Osamu! Sorry, I didn't hear y-"

Osamu groaned. Suna was always a terrible liar.

"Fine." Suna laughed as he approached the seating area. "I thought you were a fan."

"Wow." Osamu deadpanned. "That's how th' great Suna Rintarou treats his lovin' fans? Ya get on one magazine cover and suddenly yer an idol?"

Suna lifted Osamu's legs, so he could slide onto the couch then lowered them onto his lap. This had been their dynamic since high school: comfortable familiarity. No matter how far their jobs and lives took them away from one another, they always had this to come back to.

"What can I say?" Suna said, pulling off his cap and dramatically flicking his bangs. "I'm too gorgeous for you commoners." He put the cap back on and rested his hands on Osamu's knees.

Osamu jerked his foot back to knock Suna's thigh with his heel.

"Careful, don't damage the goods." Suna sent him a withering look. Osamu's seen enough of Suna's expressions to know this one was a fabrication. "I've gotta kick your brother's ass today." He slapped his thigh. "Need these bad boys in tip-top shape."

"Good. He needs to be knocked down a few pegs." Osamu smiled. "I'll be cheerin' for y'all."

Suna squeezed his knee, volleyball strong fingers working their way through fabric into the muscle below. Osamu felt his breathing hitch. "The noble support of the Onigiri Man, I'm honored."

"Am I some kinda superhero now? A crime fightin' onigiri slinger?"

"Perhaps." Suna tilted his head. "For all I know, you have rice telepathy. I won't judge." 

"Rice telepathy… really?" Osamu rolled his eyes. "Don't ya have a game t' warm up for?"

"Don't 'ya' have a business to run?" Suna winked.

Osamu hummed. "I s'pose we're at an impasse here." 

"Yo, Suna." A voice came from the locker room door. Komori leaned out of it, wearing nothing more than his shorts. "You coming?" 

"Duty calls." Suna smiled. He leaned in close, his smile morphing into a grin, eyes narrowing. Their honorary mascot had been a fox back in high school. He wasn’t sure how the moniker fit the rest of his former teammates. But Suna? Even in his laziest and most apathetic, he still made Osamu feel like prey. “See you tonight?”

Suna paused, hovering close. Too close. Osamu prayed the heat rushing through his bloodstream wasn’t visible on his skin. “Yeah.” Osamu whispered, feeling his eyes drift downward.

A flick to his forehead knocked him out of his fantasy.

“Later, Samu.” Suna said as he detangled himself from Osamu’s legs.

“Yeah, later Rin.” 

  
  


* * *

  
  


If a person could describe post-V.League socials with one word it would likely be: messy.

The word social implies something calm and quaint. Ladies sitting in a fancy parlor drinking out of porcelain tea cups and nibbling on finger sandwiches. When Atsumu first invited him to one, Osamu assumed it was simply both teams getting dinner together and intermingling.

The nights always start out that way. Arms around shoulders, bodies leaning on bar stools, stolen french fries, laughs shared between old friends turned rivals.

Then, the beer comes out, the izakaya is vacated by the other patrons, and the disaster begins.

Some socials were chill. As wild as the Jackals are, they’re easily balanced out by the Adlers. Ushijima would silently eat his steak dinner and upon completion announce that he was going home. Tobio wouldn’t know how to party if his life depended on it. Hoshiumi had a beer limit of half a bottle before he was curled up in the corner, fast asleep. Hirugami would play mahjong with Oliver and Heiwajima. Romero was the only one who knew how to hang.

But EJP-BJ socials had Bokuto and Komori and that was a match made in chaotic hell. 

The mainstay of their socials was a game they nicknamed “Penny.” The rules were as followed:

  1. There was a designated coin in play. Usually, it was a yen coin of some denomination, but sometimes an Euro or a British penny slipped in there.
  2. If the coin ended up in the drink you were holding, it must immediately be chugged.
  3. And if you must immediately chug your beer, your eardrums are assaulted by the horrendous singing voices of two teams worth of volleyball players who should stick to their day jobs.
  4. You then get to penny someone else, by slipping the coin into their drink.



No one was safe, and no one could be trusted. Enjoying a polite conversation with Coach Foster? Not anymore, he just slipped a yen in your beer. In fact, he was the one who taught it to the Jackals in the first place, an import from his native England.

After he chugged his third cup of watered down Kirin Ichiban, Osamu decided it was time for a break. He knew his limit.

Osamu found himself on the back stoop of the bar with a handful of players. Sakusa leaned against the brick wall, resembling a vampire more than a normal human being with his pale complexion and popped collar. Meian in the distance with his phone pressed to his ear, paying no mind to anyone but whoever was on the other line. Suna seated on the curb holding a plastic cup of water and sporting an impressive pair of eyebags.

“Yo.” Sakusa mumbled, burrowing himself deeper into his coat. It was easy to tell he absolutely did not want to be here. But Osamu figured he was Atsumu’s designated driver, waiting for things to wrap up.

And this was just typical Suna behavior at this point. 

“Hey Samu.” Suna lifted his cup in greeting. 

“I’da come out here sooner if I knew this was where the real party was.”

Suna groaned and rolled his eyes. “Don’t say lame shit.”

“C’mon Omi, back me up here.”

“Why would I do that?” Sakusa crossed his arms, shoulders puffing up like a porcupinefish. "And it's Sakusa to you."

“Yer my bro-in-law.”

Sakusa’s face scrunched up, like Osamu was a pile of dog shit he just stepped in. “Ew.”

“See, the sea urchin’s on my side.” Suna grinned smugly.

Osamu sat down next to Suna and buried his face in his hands. “I think I’m turnin’ into a lightweight in my old age.”

"If you're blaming your idiocy on alcohol, then why you were so stupid back in high school?"

"Ya don't know what was in my water bottle."

"I drank out of it like… every practice dude…" Suna flashed a crooked smile. "Always water."

"Ew." Osamu shoulder checked Suna, nearly knocking him over. "Why were ya usin' my bottle? Yer nasty."

"Aww. Big tough Sammy is afraid of a teeny tiny indirect kiss with his homie?”

“Hardly.”

Suna wrapped his arm around Osamu’s shoulder, pulling him in closer.

He was so warm.

He always was.

Behind them, Osamu heard Sakusa suck his teeth, a faint sharp squeal. “...ting… I’m leaving…” He muttered under his breath before disappearing through the back door.

“Wow.” Suna laughed. “We successfully managed to get Saku-san to willingly go inside. That’s gotta be gold medal worthy.”

Suna’s fingers worked their way into his shoulder. Thumb pressed circles into muscle. With his free hand, he took a sip of water from his plastic cup, before nudging it in Osamu’s direction.

Osamu took a long sip, lips meeting the faint smudge of chapstick Suna left behind. 

“Rin.” He exhaled as he drew the cup back, the name tumbling out of his lips as easy as a barrel down a waterfall.

Suna’s eyebrows raised inquisitively.

“I…” Osamu wasn’t ready to do this. He took another sip, staring at the sloshing water in the cup. His head buzzed from anxiety instead of alcohol.

“I want…” Words were so hard. So much more difficult than they needed to be. He’d never been good at this. It had been so easy to hide behind Atsumu. His overwhelming faux-confidence always concealed the multitude of their combined anxieties.

“If I wanted to…” Osamu looked away. The fingers that rubbed into his shoulder felt ridiculously good, but he wished Suna was on the other side of the alleyway. Then this might’ve been easier to do. “Kiss you. A real one. Wouldja let me?”

Suna’s eyebrows furrowed and he inhaled sharply. “No, I wouldn’t.”

“Oh.” 

“We’ve both been drinking.” Suna frowned. “It’s not right.”

“Rin.” Osamu hated how whiny his voice sounded. Like he was Atsumu at his brattiest. Not the cool, calm, collected person everyone assumed he was. “Wouldja, though?”

“I said no.”

“In normal circumstances?”

Suna looked away. The grip on Osamu’s shoulder loosened, hand dropping to the stoop behind them. Osamu’s skin itched, immediately missing the touch.

“Sunarin.”

“Don’t ‘Sunarin’ me, Samu.” Osamu didn’t miss the color that bloomed on Suna’s cheeks. “Kissing a straight boy is the last fucking thing I want to do. Ever.”

“I’m not…” Osamu whispered.

“Look.” Suna’s eyes sharpened, his upper lip curled. “I’m not here to be your _fucking_ rebound.” He practically growled. “Or some experiment.”

Osamu felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes. How could he have been this stupid? Of course Suna wouldn't feel the same.

“Ya mean so much more than that to me, Rin.” Osamu wrapped his arms around his knees, making himself as small as his tall form could manage. He sighed. “Just… forget I said anything.”

They sat in silence. Long enough for Meian to finish his phone call, paying neither of them any mind as he went back into the izakaya. Long enough for Komori to sit next to them on the stoop taking a few hits of a joint, offering them both a (rejected) hit, before extinguishing it. Long enough for Sakusa to crack the door open and inform Osamu that he and his brother were leaving. 

Suna broke the silence first, after finishing off his drink. “I’ve liked you since high school.” He crumbled the empty plastic cup in his fist. “That’s why it hurt me.”

He.

It all made sense to Osamu, deep in the back of his head.

Everything.

They were best friends. But there had always been something deeper between them. Something unspoken.

Sudden realization dawned.

“You…” Osamu whispered. “You set me up with Michiru.”

Suna dropped the crumbled cup to the ground with a clatter. Mouth pressed in a firm line.

“You set me up with her ‘cause you… thought ya didn’t have a chance.”

Osamu clumsily reached for the hand resting on the concrete between them. Suna flinched, then relaxed.

“I mean.” Osamu spoke to fill the void, to let his thoughts out instead of letting his brain overanalyze Suna’s silence. “Dude. I thought… _you_ were straight.”

“Don’t.” Suna whispered. “Don’t do this to me.”

Osamu loosened his grip on his hand. Suna stared at him for a long moment before he twisted his hand around and slipped his fingers between Osamu’s, maintaining eye contact.

Those hunter eyes Osamu adored. Night deepened olive with streetlight golden catchlights.

“I like you, too, Sunarin.” Osamu squeezed his hand. “Ask me in the mornin’ when our heads are clear. The answer will be the same.”

Suna stayed quiet for a significant pause before "Okay."

"Tha's it?" Osamu laughed.

"God. I wish I'd taken Komori up on his offer. My brain's mid-meltdown." Not a single crease of an eyebrow revealed Suna's anxious thoughts. That was one of his superpowers. He was a terrible liar, always had been. But his poker face could easily challenge Yumeko.

“Sorry.”

The corners of Suna’s mouth curved upward slightly as he exhaled. Fingertips tentatively touched the top of Osamu’s cheekbone, thumb tucking under his chin. Hard callous against elastic, sensitive skin. “You’re an idiot. A beautiful moron.”

“’m the idiot?” Osamu leaned into the touch, a smile playing on his lips. “Rin, you set your crush up with a girl he proceeded t’date for 6 years. That’s top tier fool material in itself.”

Suna shifted his fingers so his nails pricked at skin, eyes narrow and grin toothy. “Just for that comment,” He brushed his thumb against the underside of Osamu’s jaw. “I’m still not gonna kiss you.”

Osamu laughed until his ribs ached deep beneath his coat. “Fine, whatever.” Suna’s eyes were curved into dark-lashed crescents as he grinned. “You waited a million years for me. I’ll do the same for you.”

Suna withdrew one hand from Osamu’s cheek and squeezed the hand he held with the other. “Cheesy.” 

Leave it to Suna to keep them firmly grounded to the earth. 

They weren’t the center of the universe, dancing alone in a crowded ballroom. They weren’t high above in outer space, clasping hands as they float in zero gravity. They weren’t accompanied by roses and a big band, confessions made through some grand display.

They were a couple of idiots sitting in a grimy alleyway. Twenty-somethings with crooked teeth, messy hair, cheeks bitten by cold and hands graced by warmth. Foolish adults with unresolved feelings older than some school children.

This wasn’t romance. 

“I guess…” Suna stared up at the tiny bit of sky that peaked through the buildings around them. “This means when the time comes, we’ll have a chance to finally do it right.”

Though... maybe it could be.

  
  


* * *

  
  


"Why're'ya callin' me?" Osamu groaned.

Just moments ago he’d been fast asleep, deep in dreamland. Then he was knocked awake by a tinny electropop beat followed by "BOOM BOOM TOKYO GIRL~!" coming from his phone on the side table. The ringtone was the telltale sign that Atsumu had mustered some sort of nonsense to bother him with. 

"Samu! Don't you know what day it is?"

"Uh… Tuesday?"

" _Aho_." Atsumu chastised him. "It's November 26th."

"That s'posed to mean somethin' to me?" 

"Yer a moron. A year ago we were in Prague." 

"Oh." 

"Soooo…" Atsumu grinned, Osamu didn't need to see him to know this. "What didja wish for?"

"I thought ya weren't s'posed to tell someone yer wish." Osamu adjusted the phone closer to his ear.

"Yeah, sure. But yer dream was s'posed to come true already. That was the deal." 

Osamu struggled to recall what he wished for back then. It felt like half a lifetime ago with how busy the year had been. "I don't remember, Tsumu."

Atsumu clicked his tongue. A sound Osamu heard billions of times when his brother was frustrated. "Well, if you ain't tellin', then I won't either."

Osamu rolled his eyes. "Bold of ya to think I care."

"Mine came true." Atsumu said, smugly. "Don'tcha wanna know what it was? Well? Don'tcha?"

"I don't know if ya were aware of this but yer 24, not 4." He tried to keep his voice low and quiet.

Osamu leaned back into his pillow, taking in the darkened room around him. He moved to Shibuya City five months ago when he finally could afford to open a second Onigiri Miya branch. His apartment was small, a simple one room studio with a modest kitchen. 

The leaves of the potted Meyer lemon tree on his balcony were illuminated by the golden glow of the streetlight. His other plants, the baby fruit trees he painstakingly propagated from seeds, the climbing vines and ferns grown cloned from Kiyoomi’s home garden, remained in darkness. The lights of his computer tower twinkled orange and white. The man next to him shifted in the bed, breathing still slow and heavy from sleep.

He remembered.

“Now that I think about it.” Osamu said. “I think mine came true, too.”

“OoOoOoh~!” The insufferable voice of his brother echoed.

“Samu? Who is it?” 

“It’s just Tsumu.” Osamu raked his fingers slowly and gently through his boyfriend’s hair. “Decided he wanted to annoy me before dawn.”

“Mmm… Yeah, that sounds like him.”

Osamu heard an indignant whine through the receiver. “I’m going back to sleep, Tsumu. Maybe I’ll tell ya later.”

Atsumu sighed. “Fine. Tell Suna I said hi.”

Suna propped himself up on an elbow and leaned over Osamu’s chest to speak into the phone. “Atsumu. Wake me up this early again and it’ll be the last thing you ever do.”

"Bye, I hate both of you."

“Love you too, Tsumu."

Osamu set the phone back on the table and slid back under the covers. He tucked his arms and hands close to his chest as Suna pulled him in. A gentle kiss was pressed to his temple before Suna rested his chin on the crown of Osamu’s head.

“What was that all about?”

“Y’know how we went to Prague? On the Charles Bridge, there’s a legend where if ya make a wish, it’ll come true in a year. I guess Tsumu set a reminder.” Osamu spoke into Suna’s collarbone.

“What did you wish for?” Suna’s fingers roamed the expanse of Osamu’s upper back, tracing lazy paths between freckles he knew by heart.

He stood on the bridge that frigid afternoon. Fingers hovering over bronze shined by centuries of wishes. Cold biting his cheeks as his heart lay leaden in his chest.

Osamu leaned to kiss Suna’s neck, just beneath his jaw. Suna immediately shifted his position to reciprocate with a soft and slow one on the lips that, no matter how many times he’d done it before, still managed to make Osamu feel weightless.

His eyes drifted closed as his skin met the smooth bronze. In his hour of grief and mourning, Osamu had been selfish. It’s what he deserved. What he needed to be. 

All the wishes in the world and he picked...

“You.” Osamu whispered, his lips brushing against Suna’s cheek as they formed the sounds. “I wished for you.”

“No, you didn’t.” Suna’s normally sharp, narrow stare was softened by the exhaustion in his eyes.

“No.” Osamu smiled. “But I asked for a second chance. Not just to replace what I lost but…”

“Ah.” Suna’s eyes drifted closed, sleep trying to steal him away. “Guess it did come true, then.” He whispered.

Osamu nestled in closer to Suna’s chest, warm arms cradling him tight. “Yeah.” He spoke softly, as he felt Suna fall back asleep. “I guess it did.”

The sky is blue. Grass is green. 

Osamu loved Suna Rintarou.

That was a simple fact of life.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading~!
> 
> hit me up on twitter [@andraste_](https://twitter.com/andraste_/status/1257523961002409985) if you'd like
> 
> want some insight on my writing and research? check out my carrd: https://bastigod.carrd.co/#simple


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